Sitting atop the westernized
version of Haleakala,
my own Molokini;
staring at my feet and
the following abyss.
a road going nowhere.
wisps of elder hair amongst
a blue face,
pulling at my lips
enveloped by the bliss
life to the left, the right,
in front and behind.
a preferred isolation.
Kale Beaudry
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/emptying-my-lungs-at-the-top-of-the-world/
